Day one

On this rainy Monday morning, I begin two days of appointments. This morning I see the plastic surgeon to talk about options for my prophylactic double mastectomy. Whenever I mention this surgery, I watch people flinch. It's almost as if they're questioning the need for such an extreme procedure when I don't have breast cancer.

In my head sometimes, I wonder about its need. I think about the pain and recovery; the physical and mental adjustments. While I'm not overly attached to my breasts, they are part of me. I'm sure the whole process will affect me profoundly.

But when I explain why I'd undergo the surgery, I realize I haven't really got a choice. I have the BRCA-1 gene. It's obviously broken, and as a result, doesn't recognize cancer cells as bad and kill them - hence the ovarian cancer. Even though I've cut my risk of breast cancer in half through removal of my uterus and ovaries, it's still heart-stopping 45 per cent. And the risk only increases as I get older.

While I'm taking Olaparib, which is designed to replace the role of my broken gene, it's still experiemental. I have no guarantees. I'm praying with every fibre of my being it's the next wonder drug because then it'll keep my ovarian cancer under control. Theoretically, it would also prevent genetically induced breast cancer.

But I'm not willing to roll the dice with my life. Almost 50/50 odds are NOT acceptable to me. I don't want to have to fight breast cancer too.

So I'll seriously discuss the reconstruction options with the plastic surgeon today and make the decision that works for me.

Tina